1 #2
The inheritance made waves in town, stirring up talk that the old man hadn’t died of natural causes.
The story goes that someone even came forth claiming to be the man’s real son and demanding to see the will.
But Peter’s employer had been well into his eighties, and his lawyer had overseen the changes in the will himself.
There wasn’t any substance to the whispers—they’d likely come from the town’s elites, the snobs with homes up in the hills near the mansion.
The Abbotts, in their eyes, didn’t deserve a place beside them.
Eventually the suspicions died down, and Peter Abbott thrived in his newfound life, living in the mansion with his family and training his son to be a mechanic.
His son, the triplets’ grandfather, saw the opportunity to expand and opened the repair shop to the public, singlehandedly turning it into the go-to auto shop for the residents of Silver Creek.
The triplets’ father, Jonathan Abbott, never took to the auto business—he prefers spending money to earning it, jetting off to Bali or Marrakesh whenever he can.
The boys, though, have no intentions of living off trust funds forever.
They learned everything from their grandfather and took over as much of the business as they could after he passed away, working after school and on weekends to keep up with the town’s auto repair needs.
One day after school, the brothers were working on Mariana’s sedan.
When they finished, Mariana said goodbye and started driving the car, which burst into flames before she’d even exited the property gate.
The ambulance had to come all the way from Central Springs, the nearest hospital, and by the time it finally arrived, Mariana was dead.
Adam, who’d attempted to pull her from the burning vehicle, sustained second- and third-degree burns to his hands, arms, and face.
Our town, having long awaited just such a scandal, began to speculate that the explosion was no accident. The car had been tampered with, they claimed. And Adam hadn’t tried to save the girl—he’d been burned trying to keep her inside as the flames swallowed her whole.
It’s nothing but ridiculous rumors. These people had been biding their time, waiting for some crack in the Abbott family’s handsome and opulent exterior. Waiting so they could jump in and knock the family and their mansion to the ground.
But I’ve been the Abbott boys’ neighbor my entire life.
Okay, neighbor is a bit of a stretch. My house at the base of the hill is the closest one to their property.
To get to their house, I have to trek twenty minutes along a dirt lane, past the fields of crops and the woods that span the Abbott property.
We’ve been friends since we were kids, and when my mom passed away three years ago, the brothers took care of me.
They left their lavish abode to come into my humble one, so Dad and I wouldn’t be alone.
I know none of them could’ve hurt Mariana.
First of all, there was no motive. Mariana was Bram’s girlfriend of a year, and the two were attached at the hip. He hasn’t been the same since her death.
And as for Adam, why would he sacrifice his life and his football career to get rid of a kind soul like Mariana? It makes no sense.
“You want to work on our lit papers after school?” I ask Henry as I put away my books.
“Oh, um, sure,” he says, reddening. “Though I might not redo it after all.”
I narrow my eyes. “Show me your paper, Henry.”
“What—why?” He isn’t making eye contact.
“You didn’t even get a bad grade, did you?” I should’ve known. That whole facade back in lit class was to make me feel better about my crappy grade.
“Well, I did get an A-minus,” he says sheepishly, dragging the sole of his shoe over the linoleum.
“You’re the worst, you know that?”
“You have mentioned this before, yes.” He slings me a lopsided smile.
As for Henry, I know him best of all. He’s the kindest and gentlest of souls. It just isn’t possible.
We reach the cafeteria and join the line. When we get in the middle of debating which caf staple is most likely to give us E. coli, a commotion at a nearby table draws our attention.
A group of boys is gathered around the table, laughing. One of them picks up an apple from the ground, and the others call out, “Do it again!”
The boy tosses the apple into the center of the crowd, which parts enough for me to watch it nail someone in the head.
The boys burst into laughter as the apple bounces off the table, hits the bench, and rolls along the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Todd Ellison jeers. “All-league receiver two years in a row, and now you can’t even catch a piece of fruit? Guess that’s karma for you.”
His target, Adam Abbott, merely sits there, head lowered over his tray and navy-blue hoodie drawn, like he’s trying to go unnoticed even as the boys continue to mock him. Beside me, Henry tenses.
Then he’s out of the line, darting toward the fray.
I follow him, searching for whichever teacher is supposed to be on cafeteria duty and finding none.
When I turn my eyes back to the scene, another football player, Neil Chen, snatches a plastic water bottle off the tray.
Adam doesn’t move as Neil winds up, bottle poised to nail him in the head.
Henry and I are too far away, so I shout a warning at Adam. Only he ignores it.
I’m already flinching, bracing to watch the impact, when a dark lean figure swoops past the table and the other boys to grab Neil’s wrist.
Bram. My tight chest lets out a breath. But Bram proceeds to twist Neil’s arm until the boy screams, letting the bottle drop to the ground. My stomach mimics the wringing motion until Henry reaches the boys, coaxing his brother to let go.
The other football players stand there, wide-eyed. Todd Ellison starts in Bram’s direction, but Henry steps out, cutting him off. Behind him, Adam slowly gets to his feet like a statue come to life.
“Let’s just go,” one of the boys says, nudging Todd.
Bram, wearing the same gifted hoodie, the crew neck of his black T-shirt peeking through, glares icily at Neil. “Gotta release earlier, Chen. Aren’t you like…fifth-string QB?”
“Sick freak,” Neil mutters, gritting his teeth like he might risk another go at Bram. But the others hiss and tug at him, and when they turn for the cafeteria door, he reluctantly follows.
I feel the shift in the room. The way every student in this place has either moved closer to the door or scooted as far to the end of their benches as possible.
I glance over to where pretty redhead and student council president, Kennedy Russo, sits with a rice bowl, watching with her mouth half-open.
Her cheerleader friends are speaking in hushed tones and recording videos with their phones.
One tugs on Kennedy’s pink cashmere sweater, then leans over to whisper something in her ear.
I don’t need to get close to know that their thoughts—everyone’s thoughts—echo Neil’s words.
Sick freak.
They think the Abbott brothers are freaks. And their fear rises in the room, fast and hot as flames.